This is the edited text of Archbishop Anthony Fisher’s Homily for Mass for the 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time and Installation of Relic of St Charbel Makhlouf, St Luke’s Parish, Revesby, 21 July 2024.
The adventure film Cast Away, starring Tom Hanks, was released in the year 2000. It tells the story of Chuck Noland, a FedEx trouble-shooter who is stranded on a desert island following a plane crash. As the sole survivor, he must fend for himself, finding food, water and shelter, and try to find a way back to civilisation. In one iconic scene, Chuck accidentally cuts his hand and leaves a bloody handprint on a volleyball. He shapes the smudge into a face and names it “Wilson,” and takes to talking to Wilson, his only companion for four years on the island.
Now bearded and dishevelled, Chuck finally uses pieces of port-a-loo enclosure that washed ashore to build a makeshift raft which he successfully launches past the surf. But a violent storm separates him from his raft and Wilson. Floating bereft in the ocean, with only an unopened FedEx package he was determined to deliver, Chuck is eventually rescued by a passing cargo ship.
Cast Away’s success was in large part due to its portrayal of the human spirit. Stories of courage, perseverance and survival against the odds are always popular. But the film also highlighted something else about humanity: that loneliness can be as devastating as hunger. Chuck’s anguish at being alone is harrowing, his yearning for human contact visceral, and Wilson is a poor substitute.
Many of us had a taste of this at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. Hotel quarantine, seclusion of nursing homes and hospitals, lockdowns that separated family members and friends, workplace restrictions that disconnected work colleagues, school, church and club closures, and other health rules isolated people or severely limited interactions. Being connected by phone, email and zoom was better than nothing, but we all appreciated better than ever just how important it is to be physically present to each other.
Even though we have recourse to God, Covid isolation was in some ways even more painful for believers. First, because our faith teaches us that we are made in the image of a God who is a communion of persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and that we will only find salvation and fulfilment in and through relationship with others.
Secondly, this human connectedness is magnified by our belonging to the church, a group of fellow-travellers on the way to God, brothers and sisters in pursuit of grace and holiness, supports in a life of worship and service. The “mysteries”—even the lonely sacraments of confession and anointing, but especially baptism and confirmation, Eucharist and matrimony—are community celebrations.
Thirdly, for Christians separation from God and each other is a sign and fruit of sin, and restoration to relationship the result of redemption. So, in our epistle today (Eph 2:13-18), St Paul says that “In Christ Jesus, you that used to be far part have been brought closely together… For he is the peace between us and… has broken down the barriers which used to separate us… uniting us in a single Body and reconciling us with God.” Sin drives us apart; Christ glues us together.
During the Covid lockdowns we ached for our relatives and friends, but also for our spiritual siblings and for that communion we experience when together in worship, receiving Christ’s Body, and being nourished for service to the wider community. Live-streamed Masses were better than nothing, but they’re a poor substitute for genuine gathering around the sacramental presence of Christ. Without these things we can feel like spiritual castaways—something our civil authorities did not always appreciate.
So, the Christian instinct is very much to congregate and celebrate together, and so support each other. Like Christ in our Gospel (Mk 6:30-34) we see a vast crowd who need our help; rather than turn our back on them, we “take pity on them” and help them. We must be like that good shepherd who cannot bear to see sheep lost and confused.
Which can make the hermits of the church seem like misfits! Yet, from at least the third century, some Christians have left their families and towns to embrace a life of isolation, focused on union with God through ascesis, prayer and contemplation. Inspired by Christ’s counsel to be perfect (Mt 5:48), by the story of Christ in the desert for forty days contesting with Satan (Mk 1:12-13), but also by accounts such as we heard in today’s Gospel (Mk 6:30-34) of Jesus and the apostles retreating to the wilderness to pray, the eremitic tradition was born. Often choosing caves, mountains, pillar-tops, or other harsh living conditions, surviving by scavenging or on offerings from passing ravens, lions or pilgrims, these Christian hermits followed Christ’s counsel “not to worry not about what you will eat or drink or wear, but seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you.” (Mt 6:25-34)
Not from that time but from the same geography, Youssef Antoun Makhlouf (1828-98), a nineteenth century cowherd in the mountains of Lebanon, desired from an early age to pursue God heart and soul. He prayed to Our Lady for the vocation of a hermit. Mary agreed, and so did Youssef’s earthly mother, on condition he promised to be a serious, holy monk, not a mediocre one. Youssef entered the Lebanese Maronite Order and took the name “Charbel” after a 2nd-century Syriac saint, martyred under the Emperor Trajan.
This Charbel lived in several monasteries of his order, took his final vows, studied and was ordained, and returned to the Monastery of St Maroun to live an ascetical life for 16 years. He then retired to a hermitage for 23 more years, labouring with little food or sleep, and praying almost continuously before the Blessed Sacrament. Although often portrayed with eyes downcast in humble prayer, Charbel was known for his cheerfulness and generosity, and was said to radiate Christian joy. He worked wonders in life and death. Suffering a stroke while praying the Eucharistic Prayer, the words most on his lips during his final days were “Abou Tkoshto”—O Holy Father. For weeks after, his tomb was luminous and pilgrims flocked to him. Five decades later his body was found to be incorrupt. He was canonised by Pope St Paul VI in 1977.
In Jeremiah’s prophecy today (Jer 23:1-6; cf. Ps 22(23)) God promises to raise up shepherds to gather his dispersed flock—even those dispersed from Lebanon to as far away as Australia. St Charbel proved himself such a good shepherd—for the Maronites in the diaspora and for us all. While a hermit’s life might seem a lonely one, detrimental to human flourishing, Charbel and other hermit and monk saints, demonstrate the power of some people to leave behind worldly things and putting union with God first. This in turn inspires the rest of us who must live in the world to make space for God in our lives, including times of holy solitude of just me and God. These saints also intercede powerfully for us, and lead us into deeper communion with God and the saints. May the people of St Luke’s Revesby know such heavenly friendship also.
St Luke the Evangelist, our parish patron, pray for us.
St Charbel, pray for us.